


hell is full of good meanings

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Canon, Drama, Gen, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson waits for Holmes at Reichenbach Falls. They say that the road to hell was paved with good intentions but he never expected it to go this far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hell is full of good meanings

Watson was a good man. He only wanted to help.

He may tolerate Holmes’ more eccentric habits—playing the violin at ungodly hours, practicing marksmanship indoors, sacrificing the dog’s well-being in the name of science—but when it came to that damned cocaine habit of his, the good doctor had to put his foot down. His conscience could not let such a brilliant mind be diminished in any way; and when he saw his friend’s lanky figure stretched out across the divan, eyes half-lidded; sleeves rolled up to expose the too-familiar puncture marks; and the morrocan case and seven-percent bottle lying on the floor, Watson knew he had to act.   
  
A breeze blew in. He heard a squawk and the flap of feathers over the roar of the falls. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up (but if it was from the cold or the bird or that tight ball growing in the pit of his stomach, Watson could not say so for sure). He peered down the depths of Reichenbach, boots digging into the soft mud. He watched the furious torrents of murky water hurtle itself into a bubbling abyss of coal-black rocks. It promised an end. Watson had to step away.  
  
He took out a silver pocket watch, opened it, and felt the bile rising up in his throat. He stuffed it back into his pocket forcefully.  _Don’t let him come,_  he thought fervently,  _don’t let him come._ But he could hear footsteps coming nearer— mud squelching, brambles and thorns snapping under the sole of boots—and all hope was lost. He swallowed the lump in his throat and straightened his back like a good soldier. He grasped his cane tightly, hands trembling.   
  
“Watson?” came the familiar voice and Watson could have lost consciousness then. He turned on his heel to face his friend. Alarm and concern shone strongly through Holmes’ hawkish face and clear eyes. All Watson could see was a trust borne out of a long friendship, and he could not do this. Holmes advanced rapidly and grasped him by the shoulders, “Watson, what in God’s name are you doing here? You must get away at once. It’s not safe!”  
  
In Holmes’ hands, Watson heard but did not comprehend; instead, he thought hazily that should he come out of this alive, his body would surely burst. He just needed the thirty pieces of silver and the kiss to solidify his position. Then again, maybe he was not Judas in this situation. Perhaps the Devil was a more apt metaphor.  
  
There was a long silence filled with bated breath and the water’s roar before Watson registered that Holmes has stopped talking and was expecting an answer.  _Oh._  Reluctantly, he extricated himself from his friend’s grasp and looked him in the eye. Holmes’ brows knitted in confusion. “You should not have come, Holmes.”  
  
“Watson?” And he had never heard his friend’s voice so uncertain. Wrong. All of this is so wrong.  
  
Watson sucked in a breath. The truth had to come out. “I only wanted to help.” Because he was a good man.  
  
Realization dawned on Holmes’ face, horror contorting his features. “You,” Watson flinched at the disgust coloring the man’s voice, “you and _Moriarty_ ?”  
  
“I’m sorry—”  
  
But Holmes would not have any of it. He laughed, bitter and biting, “You had me fooled. I had thought you were of such upstanding character. And to work— to  _work_  for such a heinous man. What was it then, dear Doctor? Was it money? Has gambling made you a pauper?—”  
  
“It’s not money, Holmes.” Watson interjected loudly, stopping Holmes’ tirade. “Neither am I working for him.”   
  
 _I only wanted to help you_ , he thought, _I never meant for any of this to go this far._  
  
“There was never a Professor Moriarty,” The doctor swallowed, “there was only ever a John Watson.”  
  
 _I am a good man._


End file.
